


Leather, Mimosas, and Saturday Evenings

by soniclipstick (veriscence)



Series: Run [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Contemplative, Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Touchy-Feely, i dunno man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 16:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1072420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriscence/pseuds/soniclipstick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil loves early mornings, and chocolate chip pancakes and fair-trade coffee and he really, really loves blonde superheroes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leather, Mimosas, and Saturday Evenings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smilla840](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/gifts).



> Hi there! Thanks for taking the time to read this, emm- notes are at the end:) Just a side note: this is a standalone piece, so you can either ignore AoS or Avengers or accept it as part of the story. 
> 
> Also, so sorry, this isn't betaed.

Every off day that he has, Phil hits snooze on the alarm clock right before it is set to go off at 4:30 a.m. and gingerly gets out of bed. He creeps to the bathroom and brushes his teeth. Then, he changes into a t-shirt that he’s received from some marathon or another. Every off day he has, he carefully locks the doors to his New York brick stone apartment and goes out for a jog.

  
He’s not a sprinter, no, he’s all for long, steady rhythm. He needs to hear the sounds of the city, so there’s no phone. The background buzz of the subway. Every once in a while, a dog barking. Or hushed voices. So early in the morning, there was an unspoken code to keep the quiet of early morning just for another few minutes. Traffic hasn’t picked up yet and the city is as quiet as New York City could ever get.

  
New York may be the city that never sleeps, but at five in the morning, the ones who are awake are either really dumb college students who have had a far too long night out, or people like him. There is a camaraderie that he feels with the other New Yorkers awake at this time. He shares quick, secret smiles with them. The tall lanky blonde who sprints past him every day at 5:07 brings achy memories. The pensioned veteran and his three dogs who meet him at the crossing by the bakery at 5:19. The college student who sits in the 24 hour cafe and waves at him at 5:45 on his way back home.

  
At this time of day, the city belongs to him. He likes the relative quiet; calm before the storm. A peace he knows won’t last for long, but for now, it’s perfect.

  
He knows it’s curious, that he’s never been called in on one of his runs. No world-threatening events requiring Phil Coulson occurs on an off-day until about 7am. As Olivander said; “Curious. Very curious. ”

  
The sun is starting to rise and the city looks like it’s on fire. Soon, the cafe will be full with early morning caffeine addicts. This may indeed be the city that never sleeps, but that doesn’t mean the New Yorkers themselves are always happy about that particular fact.

  
At 6 am, he’s back at the main doors of his apartment. He doesn’t bother pulling his keys out because the moment his hand touches the door handle, the buzzer opens the door for him. He walks up to the fourth floor slowly, taking time to stretch until he reaches his front door, which has been left an inch open. He walks in, shuts and locks the door behind him, and grabs the fresh cup of coffee that has been set upon the armoire opposite the door, right beside a purple towel.

  
He takes a sip of Sumatra Arabica and sets it back down. He had handled a mission in Indonesia once, and met a small coffee bean producer in Gayo. They were kind enough to ship him their perfect brand month after month. He wipes his brow with the towel, folds it and places it beside the bathroom door.

  
The shower is running, puffs of steam escaping the oak door. He smiles to himself, walks out to the balcony through the kitchen, grabbing his StarkPad from the kitchen table on the way out. He has twenty emails, of which thirteen are from Stark, which after skimming the first of them, he decides to ignore.

  
Every off day he has, at 6:20 am, he finishes his coffee, walks back into the kitchen, sets his tablet on the round table, turns around to put his coffee mug in the dishwasher, but instead finds strong hands at his hips, broad shoulders crowding him in, and soft lips on his. It is the meeting of two smiles rather than a kiss, really.

  
Clint smells of aftershave, mimosa and leather. Like home and safe and Saturday evenings.

  
At this point in their relationship, there is no point in trying to push Clint away because, “Come on, I’m sweaty and sticky and you just took a bath” just isn’t a valid excuse for the marksman.

  
At this point in their relationship, he’s learned that he can never say no to one Clinton Francis Barton when he’s on a mission to touch his husband. So he simply wraps his arms around Clint, and doesn’t let go. Arms move from his hips to around his waist, and chest meets chest. Clint rests his head in the crook of his neck and just stays.

  
When Clint finally does let go, it’s to make the best chocolate chip pancakes on the planet.

  
Phillip Jonathan Coulson loves his days off. Phil loves early mornings and chocolate chip pancakes and fair-trade coffee and he really, really loves blonde superheroes.

 

  
(And he doesn’t mean Captain America either)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, the last time I wrote fanfiction, I was 18 years old and suffering from a major addiction to Bleach. Then I started university and the only things I wrote were lab reports and problem sets and exams. 
> 
> I never stopped reading fanfiction, but then a couple months ago, I was procrastinating before my Oceanography exam when I discovered SHIELDHusbands, which is starting to beat Destiel as my #1 OTP. Trust me when I say this, I went through about 27 pages of Clint Barton/Phil Coulson on AO3. Then I read the Evolution of Clint Barton and I started getting the itch to write again. So this is why I am gifting this to smilla840. You wrote a piece of literature so good I wanted to write again. Thank you.
> 
> That being said, writing is a craft and I haven't written in 4 years. So if I could ask for anything of you lovely readers who have taken the time to read this, it is for constructive criticism. Please please please tell me how to improve. 
> 
> Thank you!  
> V
> 
> PS- I've written a companion piece from Clint's POV, which I need to edit and spell check and whatnot, so I'll try to upload it tomorrow:)


End file.
